


Eat

by thefudge



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Cunning Linguist, F/M, Fucked Up, Love/Hate, my shit, sweet torture, toxic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 07:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: “Eat.” She crams the spoon into his mouth, jamming it against the scars, making sure they burn. (or how Dinah tortures Billy...and herself)





	Eat

**Author's Note:**

> and may i just say, bon appetit.

“Eat.”

She crams the spoon into his mouth, jamming it against the scars, making sure they burn.

He can’t yet close his lips over the metal, his chin is wobbling. He is trying to maintain dignity. He doesn’t look into her eyes. Doesn’t want her to see the hatred and the yearning.

Dinah scoops another dollop of pudding. She smiles sweetly at him.

“Swallow,” she instructs.

His throat is a scorching landmine, but he does as she says.

She gets up from the bed when the container is empty. She taps his oxygen bag with her finger.

She walks to the window and stares through the blinds at the lights glowing from the street below. Her face is bathed in cadaveric yellow.

Billy is terrified. The feeling is difficult to clean. Yes, _clean_. It is filled with impurities. This terror stretches towards desire. Dinah Madani wants to torture him slowly.

The narcissistic construct that is Billy Russo would not stand for this.

The narcissistic construct that is Billy Russo has craved this all his life.

 

 

“Eat.”

He’s made some progress. Now he can swallow chunky pieces of chicken. Tasteless, boneless, made of powder.

“Chew.”

He wants to listen to her, but his jaws disobey. They’re stiff with morphine. They still feel like fresh wounds.

Dinah grips his chin and his whole body flinches. She sinks her nails into his cheeks.

Billy quietly shrieks under her prints.

“Chew.”

She moves his jaw for him, snapping his teeth together.

This time, he meets her eyes. The sweetness of her smile becomes venomous when it meets her eyelashes.

 

 

“Eat.”

He really shouldn’t. He may be half-helpless right now, but this strange blue paste she’s feeding him cannot possibly have beneficial effects.

“Eat.”

The word has become a summoning, a magic incantation. He’s a secret box of pain and he opens up at her voice.

Still.

Still, he makes an effort to preserve himself and he grits his teeth.

Dinah grins, revealing her own canines. She dips her finger in the blue paste and smears it over his lips, coaxing them open.

_Fuck._

Billy’s mouth trembles. Her touch is liminal – somewhere between life and death, between the doctors removing his oxygen tube and her face being the first he sees when he comes to.

He lets her slip inside. He sucks on her poisonous thumb and feels the paste cooling the roof of his mouth.

He starts to shake real bad and spit dribbles down his chin. It’s almost like a seizure, except he can’t move his limbs. Like there’s a storm inside of him but he’s the abandoned weather vane atop a house, so he can do nothing but spin.

Dinah bends down and kisses the scarred top of his head.

 

 

“Eat.”

She hasn’t made him eat shit yet, so he should be grateful. But this smells close to it.

Cheap, oily take-out. Noodles drenched in sauce. Fried onions. Nothing he’d ever put inside his body.

She is sitting next to him on the bed, flipping through the TV channels. Her own box of takeout lies unopened on the nightstand.

She settles on _Fox and Friends_. To…torture them both?

Billy groans and leans his head back.

Dinah slaps him lightly over the cheek, but it stings like a bitch. It always does.

“Eat.”

 

 

“Eat.”

_Holy mother of –_

Billy prays. Billy weeps, though his tear ducts are dry. God, she smells _so_ good.

She has served him garbage and drugs and hospital pudding and this – _this_ is his first feast.

She doesn’t have to tell him twice.

His mouth latches onto her cunt hungrily, his tongue prying her folds open, lapping at her core, wishing he could drink until he once again seized and shook and drowned. He could live on this. His scars – _fuck_ – they hurt and they hurt good.

Dinah gasps quietly. She didn’t expect him to take to it so quickly. It’s unsettling, the noises he’s making. The way he _groans_.

She only wanted to toy with him, to humiliate him – this can’t be a _good_ thing for him. Billy’s mouth sucks on her clit, teeth scraping against sensitive flesh, eating, chewing, swallowing.

Dinah bites down a moan. She wants to move her hips away, but he suddenly grips her thighs, keeping her still. He doesn’t know _where_ he gets the strength. But he squeezes her flesh, begging, demanding that she _stay_.

 

 

(Sometimes, she dreams of his unblemished face. A memory of his chin resting on her stomach, his wicked, boyish grin. His hair falling into his eyes. Telling her he should have a key to her apartment since she rarely comes over. And hey, shouldn’t she come over more often? He wants to cook her this special dish he learned from an Afghan woman. He wants to take her to Amsterdam for a weekend. She doesn’t understand _why_ he’d make these plans with her, why he’d envision a future, knowing that sooner or later, he would be her destruction.

Oh, wait. _That’s_ why.)

 

 

“Eat.”

She slips the pills into his porridge.  They could be his medicine. They could be his last breath.

She takes the spoon and licks it clean.

Billy’s chest constricts. Dinah wants to break him so bad, she’s willing to break together with him.

He cherishes her saliva.

 

 

(Her head wound has healed, but the bullet mark will always be there. He'd like to slip his finger in the small hollow, would like to feel the irregularity of her scalp)

 

 

“Eat.”

She stuffs the death certificate of agent Sam Stein into his mouth.

He chews, staring into her sorrow, regretting _nothing_.

He’d do it all over again, he’d stain himself with innocent, reckless, stupid blood if it meant she would be his jailor. If it meant she would chase him, catch him, quietly and methodically obsess over him.  

And Dinah knows. She has held his black heart between her fingers, weighed it, and put it back in his chest. She lets him live every day, knowing he would not do the same for her.

Or would he?

Billy shakes his head imperceptibly. _I’d kill you_ , he drawls softly in her head. _I’d kill you, rather than subject you to this. I’d set you free._

She smiles. That’s the difference between them. When Dinah catches a fly, she holds it in the jar. She doesn’t release it.

“Eat.”

 

 

“Eat.”

He has become his mother. Confined to a bed, at the whims of his own creation.

He laughs to himself.

The difference is, Dinah actually loves him.

He feels bad for her. He feels for her. He _feels_.

It’s like exercising a dead muscle. He hasn’t used it since childhood.

“Eat,” she slips the cold spoon - like a dull blade - between his lips.

And it is like being mothered, being fucked, being absorbed. Being eaten whole.


End file.
